


Memories and motion

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Motion Sickness, Teasing, Vomiting, car sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: “Oh my god. Uh, Aunt Deb, I think you should pull over, like, now.”“Why honey?”Steve makes an ugly sound and Deb looks at him just as she says “Because Steve’s gonna puke, for real.”Missing scene from Episode 6.12. Turns out Steve does get carsick. It brings back childhood memories for both Mary and him.





	Memories and motion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IzzyWritesStuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyWritesStuff/gifts).



> So, When I posted this Steve-with-Food-Poisoning-Story I got a request for more. So I'm writing a sequel/second part. In the mean time, I had this almost ready to go, so I shall keep on torturing poor Steve and making him toss his cookies again.
> 
> I am a very, very bad person. I know this.
> 
> Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine. Mary-Anne's POV
> 
> Set about in the middle of 6.12, when Deb gets to drive Steve's Silverado.

* * *

 

"Are you okay?” Mary asks.

“I’m good,” Steve answers tightly.

“You look a little green..." Deb teases.

"This is torture for you, isn’t it?" she says, needling her brother as he mumbles about being fine, only he really does look green. For some reason, that niggles at Mary-Anne's mind. Suddenly, a memory surges in her mind, bright and sharp; her sixth birthday, her blue dress and a hot gush on the back of her head, foul-smelling bright red goo running down her shoulder and all over her beautiful blue dress.

"Are you gonna puke?" she asks, kinka maybe mocking him. She might have forgotten for a bit but now, she remembers, vividly.

His unsure "I dunno," confirms her suspicions and of course, Joanie picks up on the word puke and starts chanting at the top of her voice.

Steve all but begs Mary to stop her and she intervenes, just because bad behaviour shouldn’t be rewarded, no matter how hilariously funny it is.

Once Joan’s down to giggling, she glances at Steve through the rear view and side mirrors. She can’t get a good look at his face but the bit she does see has gone from pasty green to sheet white. She sees him suddenly lurch and visibly swallow.

“Oh my god. Uh, Aunt Deb, I think you should pull over, like, now.”

“Why honey?”

Steve makes an ugly sound and Deb looks at him just as she says “Because Steve’s gonna puke, for real.”

The truck slows down and pulls to the curb near a bus stop, and her brother’s got his seatbelt off and the door open before the thing’s even come to a complete stop, stumbling out with uneven steps to the nearby trash bin. He braces both hands on the sides, head dropping between his shoulders. He coughs raggedly and there’s a choked glug and gargle, followed by a long wet splat.

She undoes her seatbelt and steps out into the warm air, her aunt joining her by the front bumper.

“I thought you were just kidding,” Deb says, whispering in disbelief.

“Oh no. He used to get horribly, horribly carsick as a kid. He outgrew it, or so I thought.”

“M’ fine so long as… I’m driving,” Steve says hoarsely before throwing up again.

“Ewww, puke, puke, puke, puke!” Joanie chants from the car, obviously having heard the disgusting noises.

Mary shushes her daughter and tries not to listen to her brother’s horrendous retching. God, grown-up barf is so much more disgusting than a child’s, mainly because there’s so _much of it_ , and how much does the guy eat for breakfast anyway, she wonders, simultaneously amazed and horrified.

Deb takes a few steps forward and puts her hand on the small of Steve’ back, rubbing in a gentle circle, clearly feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to make you sick,” she says quietly and the depth of guilt and sorrow in her voice makes Mary-Anne’s heart clench in her chest.

“I know,” Steve says, voice rough. He spits and shakes his head, like a horse shooing off a fly. “I’m usually okay.”

“Unless your old aunt drives you around swerving through traffic like a maniac…”

“Deb,” Steve groans pleadingly. “Don’t… Ugh… Don’t talk about it. Please. Oh f…”

He burps and pukes again with a groan.

“Oh.. I’m so sorry, honey…”

“S’okay.”

Mary-Anne watches for another minute, making sure her brother is actually done ralphing before she walks back to the truck and her daughter’s bag, only to have said daughter start her chanting again. She quiets Joan, not to spare her brother; rather because no matter how ill Steve is and why, it’s not okay for her daughter to scream at the top of her lungs in the car, especially not when she’s chanting “puke, puke, puke” over and over again, and not when she’s making fun of someone she cares about.

“Joanie, stop, okay? Uncle Steve’s sick. He’s not feeling well and that’s not funny. Would you like it if someone laughed if you had a tummy ache?”

She wonders if the speech will have any effect on the two-year-old but she can see her thinking, frowning, her little wheels turning.

“Uncle Sweeve go’ a tummyache?”

“He does, baby,” she answers, figuring the finer points of motion sickness would be lost on her daughter.

“Sing da lullaby, mama. Feel bedda. Li’ me!”

She smiles. “Yeah, maybe. You wanna share your water with Uncle Steve? That’ll make him feel loads better.”

“Otay mama!”

“Thank you, baby.”

She takes the bottle from the diaper bag and unscrews the cap, walking up to Steve’s other side. He’s still ghost white under his tan, sweat beading on his face.

“Here. Rinse out your mouth.”

He blinks tears out of his eyes and straightens up, clearing his throat.

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing the bottle. He swishes some water around his teeth a few times, spits and takes a couple slow sips before wiping a hand over his face and mouth.

“At least you didn’t get any on your shirt or on me, this time.”

The glare he gives her could melt steel and bring back some color to his face. “Shut up, Mare.”

“He didn’t,” Deb says, eyes wide.

“He did. Like… ten times.”

“I did _not_!” Steve argues indignantly.

It’s her turn to glare.

“Okay, a couple times maybe,” Steve amends. More color gets into his face. She isn’t sure if it’s just embarrassment or if he’s actually mad that she remembers (like she’d _forget_ getting puked on by her big brother); maybe he thinks _she_ sees it as a weakness.

“A couple? I can remember at least a dozen, okay, like five,” she amends at her brother’s glower, “different instances of you barfing all over me and the back seat of the car. Dude, you puked in my hair on _my sixth birthday_!”

She turns to her aunt, a wicked gleam in her eye. Maybe embarrassing her brother about this will make light of it and they can get back to making Deb smile, despite Leonard’s recent passing. Because right now, making her aunt happy is all that matters and if that means adding to Steve’s humiliation, well, so be it.

“He had a blue puke bucket that lived in the car, I mean, we could not leave home without that thing, and there’d be hell to pay if we did,” she tells Deb. “My sixth birthday was one of those times.”

Steve sighs deeply, rubbing the back of his neck and scratching his thumbnail between his eyes, a tick that means he’s either very stressed, annoyed or embarrassed.

“How did you survive the Navy with that kind of motion sickness?” Deb asks, and yeah, she always wondered too.

“Don’t get seasick or airsick for some reason, just carsick. Can we change the subject, please?” Steve said impatiently, his cheeks still bright red.

“All right. Feel better, hon?” Deb asks kindly.

“Yeah. Keys please,” he says, stepping away from the reeking trashcan.

“I just… how did he manage to puke in your hair?” Deb asks her.

“She insisted she should sit in the front because it was her birthday. I usually sat in the front because it helped me feel less sick.” Steve answers for her.

“Didn’t work _this_ time, did it?” Mary crows.

“Keys. Now,” Steve growls impatiently.

They both burst out laughing but Deb does drop the keys into his outstretched hand.

She gets back into the truck and to Joan. Her daughter is watching her uncle intently and she can tell Joan is trying to figure something out.

“Uncl’ Sweeve?”

“Yes, Joanie?” Steve says, twisting to gaze at his niece.

“Is you tummy bedder now?”

He smiles softly and Mary can see his heart melt and a radiant, loving glow lights his eyes God, how is it that her mush for a heart brother does not have five kids of his own to love?

“My tummy’s all better, now Joanie, thank you for asking.”

“Did mama ‘tiss it bedder?”

Steve snorts, Deb laughs and she just coos. How cute is that?

“She, uh she didn’t but I’m sure she’ll give you, a kiss, sweetheart.”

“You ‘tiss Joanie!”

“Uncle Steve needs to brush his teeth first, baby.”

“Otay.”

“All right. I’ll get you girls home. I gotta get back to work.”

 

* * *

 

Mary-Anne watches Steve drive off, still looking pasty, but smiling.

"I really didn't mean to make him sick, or to bring back bad memories for the both of you," her aunt says, still sounding sad.

"Don't worry about it. Besides, it's not like he has a million flaws I can tease him about."

"Other than the fact he's a total control freak?"

"Other than that."

They share a laugh as she guides a yawning Joan into the house. She settles her down for her nap and they plan the rest of their day, her mind still on her brother.

"So you wanna know the story of my sixth birthday and Steve's epic cherry shave-ice vomit disaster?"

 

* * *

 

He checks the mirror, making sure the ladies are safely inside before turning the corner. He finds a shaded parking spot by the park and pulls the truck to a stop, lowers all the windows and shuts of the engine.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, breathing slowly and evenly as fresh sweat beads on his face.

His mouth waters and he swallows carefully, ignoring the lingering aftertaste of vomit still clinging to the back of his throat. He knows the truck is perfectly still but he can still feel the big vehicle swaying, swerving, suspension heaving and hawing through the traffic. The dizziness and headache haven't faded yet and the water he drank is sloshing around in his stomach like seaweed caught and tossed in the surf. The light breeze is helping and so is knowing that he's sitting still but he can clearly hear and feel his distressed stomach gurgling unhappily.

"Not again, please, not again," he whispers as the discomfort coalesces into the first inklings of true nausea.

He swallows heavily and breathes slowly and evenly for a few minutes, the nausea still present but no worse, if not better.

His stomach shudders suddenly and he belches, his throat flooding, his mouth opening by reflex. He sits up in a panic, sure he’s about to throw up all over himself and the truck. He shoves his door open and leans out just in time to puke up what little water he’s got in his stomach.

Still, he hovers there, leaning outside his door over a puddle of watery vomit, gagging every few minutes, until his stomach settles again. This time, the dizziness and headache fade and he breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s been _decades_ since this happened, and he hasn’t missed it One Bit. It’s as nasty and vile and as uncomfortable as he can remember. Only this time, he doesn’t have his father’s disapproving glare, or his mother’s comforting touch to make it both better and worse.

He takes another minute to rest before getting on his way again. They have a case, they're a man down and a child was shot. He doesn’t have time for this. He blows out a deep breath and starts the truck, heading for the lab, hoping the incident stays private. He’s taking enough ribbing from Danny as it is.

He could only hope.

He really does need to get Mary a sixth-birthday apology present though. Maybe a pretty blue dress, even. He chuckles and smiles, thinking back to his own sixth birthday and two-year-old Mary-Anne’s gift to him: a sheet of paper scribbled in a million colours she’d made just for him, and a big sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He really does love his little sister, even if she makes fun of him. Maybe tonight he’ll dig out an old photo album or two and they could reminisce a little about the good parts of their childhood. It would also help put Deb’s mind at ease, show her he and Mary are on solid ground and that they’ll be all right, once she’s gone.

Family’s about making new memories, even in harder times. It’s about making every moment count.

He’ll make sure tonight counts.

 

FIN

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, comments? Cough'em up! (Yes. Pun intended.)


End file.
